Stained
by Buridanical State
Summary: It's difficult to fool an enemy. It's even harder to fool yourself, and nothing about this is right.


**This story is rated M. **It contains adult themes and language, M/M, and Dub Con. If any of this offends you, please do not read.

**Pseudo-Spoiler: **The story takes place within the timeline following Light's imprisonment, before he regains his memories.

*****I do not own Death Note or its associated characters.*****

**Stained**

He's here again. I can feel his eyes on me. He sits in complete darkness, waiting for me to realize that he's there. I don't bother to turn on the light; he knows the layout of this room by heart. I smile to myself, thinking of how funny it would be to rearrange the furniture one day. No. That would be pointless. It's been a long day, and I'm far too tired for games, but I can't bring myself to say so. Instead, I simply turn my back to the presence in the room and wait for his hand on my shoulder. Like clockwork, cold hands brush my neck and then grab my shoulders, gripping hard to turn me to face even colder eyes. "Death." He reminds me of Death. I don't realize that I've spoken aloud until he responds. "Yes - You are."

"Ryuzaki, please. I'm not Ki-." He stops my words with his lips against mine, warm tongue exploring my mouth, making him feel a little less like Death. "Mmph… don't." Why is it that I never sound convincing, even to myself? How is he to believe that I don't want this when I can't even convince myself? "Don't what, Light?" He runs a finger down my spine in a soothing manner. I make the mistake of looking into his eyes. I can't speak. I can't move. All I can do is feel his breath against my neck as he unbuttons my shirt and slides it past my shoulders. _**This isn't right. It's not me you want. **_The moonlight filters in through the windows, and he uses the faint light to inch me backwards toward the bed. Nervousness sets in like it always does when I realize that there's nowhere else to go but down onto the bed that he's backed me against. He pushes me down to sitting position on the edge of the bed. His hand is remarkably gentle as he lifts my chin so that I'm looking up at him, into his dark eyes glinting in the moonlight. I feel the skin beneath his fingertips flush as he caresses my cheek. He runs his hand through my hair, and I close my eyes, finally at ease until he brings me back to reality with a firm yank of my hair.

My hands tremble as they reach for the waistband of his pants and pull them down to reveal an impressively long and thick erection. I take it in hand, and a low groan rattles in his throat as I begin to stroke him. A single drop of precum oozes from the head, and I can't resist the urge to lick it away. He inhales sharply and uses my hair as leverage to guide me further down his shaft. The experience is surreal- the feel, the sounds, the taste. They all draw me into a kind of out of body experience. I'm cut off from this body, unaware of my own actions, my own moans as I absently rub myself through my pants. Suddenly, he releases his grip on my hair and pulls himself out of my mouth. My jaw aches, and my throat is raw, but I want more. _**I don't want to want this. **_He stares at me as though reading my mind, and perhaps he is. "Take off your pants." His voice is cold and unyielding. I hesitate. "Ryuzaki, we shouldn't be doing this." His eyes narrow and seem even darker than usual. He takes off his shirt and tosses it onto the floor; his pants are kicked away after them. His pale skin and thin frame are almost unearthly in their severity. Still, I know better than to underestimate the strength in those limbs. "Take. Off. The pants."

For some reason, it scares me when his voice drops like that. Even though he's never seriously hurt me, even though I could take care of myself if he tried, it still unnerves me. _**This isn't like me, to play the submissive kid yielding to another's authority. Why are you the only one who can- **_A jolt of pain across my left cheek. I should have been paying attention. "I won't ask you again." I undo my pants and slide them past my hips along with my underwear. I wriggle out of both in my semi-reclining position on the bed. His kisses are mild again, and his hands are teasing as they flit across my bare skin. He turns this side of his personality on and off so effortlessly that sometimes I wonder if he's not two different people. "Who are you?" He seems both angered and amused by the question. That cruel, sarcastic smirk that is reserved only for me graces his features. "Who do you think I am?" So many ways to answer this wrong. "My lover." "Your nemesis," he corrects. "I don't understand." The smirk disappears, replaced by a searing glare. My legs are nudged apart before he takes a hold of them and roughly pulls me into position. The only lubrication is the last traces of my saliva and then the familiar spreading warmth: blood. His thrusts are brutal and deep, and my nails dig into his back as half-stifled screams escape my lips. He strokes me in a steady rhythm, his hand keeping in sync with his hips. I can't help but to moan in appreciation at this act of mercy.

There is no easy pleasure in this. He drags moans from me, wrenches them from my soul. He grunts with every thrust, so intent is he on making sure that I feel every inch of him. And I do. I take every bit of pain and pleasure that he has to offer. He slows to a comfortable pace, and I think that I could die right now. He knows my body better than anyone else. He knows how to cause excruciating pain as well as nearly unbearable pleasure. I need to kiss him. I need to feel his mouth against mine. I reach up into that tangled mass of ebony locks to pull him into a kiss, but I think that I've done something wrong. His hands clap down on my wrists, pinning them against the bed. He is stock-still, and I can feel the dull throb of his arousal inside of me.

"Who am I?" That cryptic riddle again. "I- Ryuzaki, what are you asking me?" "Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you." I don't want this. I try to move my arms but to no avail. In this position, he has the advantage. "Ryuzaki..." "Stop calling me that!" I've never seen him so angry. His face is a picture of hatred. His voice is strained and harsh. He thrusts into me once, hard enough to steal the breath from my lungs. He ignores the sharp cry and the groan that follows. "Please… stop. This isn't right." I close my eyes tightly as he repeats this new form of punishment. I bite down on my lip as he establishes a torturous rhythm, demanding a response to his question over and over. My wrists hurt; my insides burn, and my mind is a haze. Despite all this, however, my body betrays me. I can feel myself dripping with arousal. I need to touch myself. I need his hands on me. I feel the pressure building and realize with shock that I'm moaning quite loudly now. I open my eyes to find his eyes burning into me and gasp in pleasure as I call out his name. "L!" He knocks the air out of me once more. "Again." "L…L…" I repeat the name like a mantra, a fervent prayer that only he can answer. Only he can grant me release. "Please, L. Make me come. Please!" I give in to the blessed friction between us, lost to the world until he brings me back with the stroke of his hand. He claims my lips as he drives me into the sheets and over the edge of orgasm. "L!" I wrap my now freed arms around him and tremble with the force of my climax as I feel him riding out his own orgasm, filling me to overflowing at last.

He collapses on top of me, slick with sweat and my fluids between us. We lie like this for a while, until I feel his heartbeat slow to a normal rate. Until I can breathe again. His eyes seem sad now as he runs his hand through my hair almost nostalgically. I close my eyes and feel his lips on mine, chaste and brief. He pulls out of me and kneels between my legs, looking down at the bed pensively. The sheets are stained red, and he adds to this by wiping the blood from himself onto them. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, distracted by the task of cleaning himself. I don't respond. He moves to sit on the side of the bed, his face buried in his hands. It feels like my body has been torn apart and put back together, but I manage to kneel behind him, resting my head on his shoulder, my arms around him. He brushes me away after a while, and staring straight ahead, he breaks the silence.

"I care about you, you know."

"I know."

His head drops, and he lets out an exhausted sigh. "Confess."

"I have nothing to confess."

"I understand why you do it. There are days when I almost applaud your work. But murder is murder, and even though I can't stand the thought of losing you, the killings have got to stop… one way or another."

_**One way or another. **__"_Are you saying that you would kill me over something that you _think _I've done, even though you have no proof?"

He shakes his head. "No. I'm saying that I know you. And I know what happens to people who decide to play God. You will be stopped eventually. I just hope that I'm the one who does it- for your sake and mine."

"L…"

He gets up and gathers his clothes, dressing silently. I don't speak another word until I hear the turn of the doorknob. "L…" "Ryuzaki," he corrects, flipping the light switch. My eyes are blinded momentarily, slow to adjust to the sudden change. "Confess," he whispers, and I think there are tears behind that word. My vision clears just in time to see the door close behind him, and I'm left alone in the room, kneeling in the mess that we've made. I stare after him, fists clutching the sheets in anger. My palms are wet. I look down at my hands, blinking to hold back the tears. Blood. "I'm not Kira."

**End**

****Comments and constructive criticisms are welcome.****


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